


GRAVITY

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love, Imprinting, Imprinting (Twilight), Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25684273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: Sam Uley imprints on you, and the rest is history.
Relationships: Sam Uley/Reader, Sam Uley/You
Kudos: 85





	GRAVITY

**Author's Note:**

> [A/N]: Let’s say, for the plot of this fic, that Leah’s already phased and is a part of the pack. Also, I’m rating this M for Mature for, uh, reasons. No nasty business, though – some of it is intimate. And the Reader curses a lot.

“ _Hey, this is Sam Uley. Please, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can_.”

_Beep–_

_Snap!_

You don’t even bother leaving a message, not out of pity, but because of the fact that you’ve already left one – maybe two, or ten – and he still hasn’t called you back. 

Two weeks. It’s been two goddamn weeks and not a single word from him; he just up and disappeared, just like that, without telling you. You bite incessantly at your fingernails, pacing back and forth. There’s this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something isn’t right, and you can’t put your finger on it. The feeling isn’t unfamiliar in the slightest – a fleeting, forgetful prick at your skull, like there’s something you’re forgetting something that should be obvious in every sense of the word. 

And Sam Uley is at the very tip of your tongue. 

You’re shocked by how easily the anger hits you, and instead of acting out on it, you turn crisply on your heel and snatch up your coat and boots before fleeing out of your bedroom window. 

It’s not as cold as it has been for the last couple of days. The night sky is filled with millions and billions of twinkling stars. Not a cloud in sight or a breeze in motion. 

You race across the grass, nearing a small clearing in the woods, and pull your coat around you tighter. You’re nuts. Absolutely insane. Who goes out into the middle of the woods at ten o’clock at night? Too late to turn back now; the side that bears your anger has already took over. 

Besides, the wilderness calms you. 

And you’d be able to think clearly. 

Not about Sam Uley and his stupid absence that makes you angrier than normal. 

Whatever. It’s not like you care. 

A log appears in the copse of trees just ahead and you trudge over to plop down on it like a stubborn child who couldn’t get their way. You sniffle and wrap your arms around your stomach, feeling stupid for even feeling this way. There’s this neediness you never knew you had for the guy until now – it’s more than strange and it kind of scares you. 

Before he disappeared, the two of you had a natural and normal friendship. No romantic feelings, no smothering gestures, no lingering gazes. In fact, Sam barely looked your way twice, but that was just how you were together, and you’d been fine with it for as long as you can remember. 

Why do you feel differently now?

It doesn’t matter. He has Leah. 

Leah belongs to Sam. 

...and Sam belongs to Leah. 

They’d always made such a perfect couple, always understood each other, always told each other funnier jokes – _and you were fine with it_. 

What’s changed?

A twig snaps somewhere in front of you, but you don’t make a sound; however, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t alarm you. And besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve heard stuff out in the woods, in the middle of the night. 

You brush it off, but your panic meter shoots right up. 

Fear roots you to the log, unmoving, but still, you squint into the abyss of darkness ahead of you. 

Your heart stops. 

There, in between a grove of trees and logs, is a massive shadow, darker than any dark, but a stark contrast to the night sky. 

It takes you completely off-guard. An instinct to stay and flee at the same time has you scrambling backwards. With a shriek, your back hits the ground hard, knocking the air right out of your lungs. 

You don’t move. 

Every bone in your body begs you to run. 

But you can’t.

Shock. Cold, icy shock feeds into your fear, immobilizing you. 

Sticks and twigs and leaves dig into your back. 

You hold your breath, eyes screwed closed. One Mississippi, two Mississippi – three. 

Silence. 

A scuffle of bare feet on the ground. 

Labored breathing. 

“Y/N?” 

Is that...? Death wish or not, you peek out from behind the log. An outline of a body, head tilted to the side. 

“Sam?” You scurry back up to your feet, blinking against the darkness. Said company comes into view, his face a mixture of emotions; confusion, distress, relief – all vanishing when his eyes lock onto yours. 

And then he drops to his knees. 

Your anger _flares_. Plows into you like a fucking semi-truck. In that moment, you want nothing more than to smack that stupid, glossy-eyed look off his stupid face. 

But something like a cold, steel trap slams down on your chest, anchoring you to your spot. The minute Sam bends onto all fours, you fly into action, struggling toward him, dropping to your knees. 

The first thing you notice is that he’s hot. His skin is _scalding_. 

“Sam,” you whisper, and oddly enough, he shudders beneath your touch. “Sam, what the hell, dude? Where have you been? I’ve called you like fifteen times and – wait, are you _naked_?”

He lifts his head with what seems like great difficulty. “Y/N–”

You _explode_. 

“ _No_.” He looks crestfallen, wedged by your seething anger, but you’re too worked up to stop now. “Where the fuck were you? Gone for like two fucking weeks and not one goddamn phone call? Do you know how worried I was? And why are you buck-ass naked in the middle of the woods? Are you nuts?”

“If you’d just–”

“You feel like a fucking sauna, too. Are you sick? I mean, if you were sick you could’ve just told me–”

“–let me explain.”

And just like that, the spell breaks. 

“Fine.” Fuming, you stand up and shed your jacket then toss it to him. He catches it with an anticipated ease. “Put that on and you can explain everything to me at my house. Deal?” 

His eyes soften. “Deal.”

As soon as he starts to stand up, you whirl around, unable to shake the warmth in your chest and in your cheeks. Admittedly, Sam Uley had gotten bigger – not just in muscle, but in height as well. Sure, he always had been tall, taller than you, but now he’s well over six feet. If anything, you feel extremely intimidated by him. 

There’s a rustle of fabric, the sound of twigs snapping beneath his feet behind you. It doesn’t take longer than thirty seconds before he’s done, clearing his throat. 

“You can turn around now.” 

And you do. 

In spite of your apprehension, your eyes – they truly have a mind of their own – rake over him slowly. Within two weeks, your best friend has changed into an entirely different man. His arms are bigger than your head. Biceps bulging, muscles stretching, shoulders broader, jawline more prominent, defined. The jacket tightens around him, and you have the insane suspicion that any tighter, and the fabric will tear. 

As natural as the sun orbiting the earth, you lock gazes, and the fierce protectiveness he holds there is overwhelming. So overwhelming that you can barely maintain steady eye contact with him. 

You’re mad at him, remember?

Oh, right. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you gripe. “I’m still mad at you.” 

There's a disheartened look on his face as he says, “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Still mad.” You retort with a shrug, then swivel around and hike through the woods. Like a little puppy, Sam stumbles to catch up to you. “You lost some major brownie points, Uley.”

At those words, he almost falters, quickening his pace. "I'll make it up to you," he promises – _pledges_ – and with vehemence too. 

Never once in your years of knowing him had he sounded so desperate for your forgiveness. The gesture is more than flattering. 

When you reach your house, realization comes crashing down on you like a ton of bricks, and you groan, dropping your face into your hands. 

Sam sidles up next to you, the warmth from his arm brushing against your shoulder. He stands tall, shoulders squared, chest puffed up. “I can climb through the window.” 

Incredulity twists your features. “My bedroom is on the top floor.” 

“I know.” His gaze is focused on your bedroom window with determined, narrowed eyes. Then, he turns to you, expression softening through instinct. “Do you trust me?” 

Your brows furl. “You know I do.” 

He grins broadly as if you’d just gifted him the entire fucking universe. Then, much to your utter surprise, your jacket falls from his waist. 

Oh. Oh, _boy_. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but he had shed your jacket as if being naked in front of you was the single most thrilling thing in the world to him. All he does is stand there, uncaring of the attention of your eyes on him, trying to gauge your reaction. 

There’s a rush of dopamine down your back, but you look away, cheeks warm, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, Sam preens as if he can read your body language like he’s reading a fucking book.

And it’s doing things to your body. 

“I’ll meet you up there,” he says, and you can’t help but shudder at how much huskier his voice sounds. 

You’re already heading straight for the back door, breathing heavily, when you hear the creek of tree branches and a soft thump. 

By the time you reach your bedroom, Sam has made himself comfortable on your bed. In your absence, he managed to grab a towel and tie it around his waist. Now, he’s gazing about your room with a boyish wonder as if he’s never been in here before. 

Then his eyes flicker over to you, eyes intent on your own, watching for any sign of indisposition. When he finds none, his features twist into some sort of smoldering desperation, resting his hands into his lap. 

His focus is unwavering, content with just watching you. 

You move over to the love-seat in the corner of your room, and plop down, resting your elbows on your knees. His eyes had chased after you and he had moved instinctively in tune with your movements as if tethered to you by invisible marionette strings. 

Intense. Very intense. What is up with him?

“Alright, I’m just gonna cut right to it,” you say tightly. “What’s up with you? What happened to you? Like honestly, Sam, you...you got fucking _huge_. And that’s not an exaggeration.” 

He nods, not bothered by your foul mouth – used to it, if anything. “Where would you like me to start?” Soft, easy, open. “I’ll tell you anything, but you have to promise me that you won’t push me away. I can’t risk it.” 

You sink back into the seat, features pulling together. “Okay, now you’re scaring me.” 

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says adamantly, “I’d never let anything hurt you.” 

“See, _that_ is what’s scaring me,” you say. “You keep saying stupid shit and you watch me like a fucking hawk.” 

At your tone, and choice of words, he winces, face contorting into a soft mercy. “It’s not stupid,” he says. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you sigh. “Just worried.” 

He seems to deflate at that, looking aggrieved. He breathes in deeply, “Do you remember what I told you about the tribe legends?” 

You give a short nod. “About the spirit warriors.” 

“Yes,” he whispers. “And how they turn into wolves?” 

At your hardened, questioning gaze, he stands up and sinks to his knees right in front of you, eyes gentle, but imploring. “Before I keep going, you need to promise me that you won’t look at me any differently.” He reaches for your hands, detaching them and interlocking his fingers through yours delicately. 

You watch his hands and he watches you. The things that he’s doing to your body shouldn’t be this overwhelming. 

“Okay.” 

“Y/N...” 

Your face softens. “I promise.” 

He releases a shuddering breath, brushing the pad of his thumb over your knuckles and then–

“I love you.” 

You’re confused. “What?” 

“I love you,” he reiterates, and his voice is solid – resolute.

You try to look for any sign of insincerity, but what you see now, in his eyes that stare right into your own, _terrifies_ you. 

“...you love me.” The statement is flat, detached. Sam nearly loses it at the sheer dispassion on your face. 

“You don’t believe me.” 

“I’m–” you purse your lips, squint your eyes– “finding it _really_ hard to.” 

His jaw locks, and you almost take it back when his eyes glaze over. “Do you not love me?” 

That...is something you never thought he’d ask you. Especially you. For some reason, you feel like he’s mocking you, like you’re purposely being difficult. 

“What about Leah?”

Suddenly overcome with an indecipherable emotion, his voice drops down to a heavy whisper, “Leah wasn’t the one.” He looks heartbroken at the prospect, but it does little to belay your confusion. 

“Sorry. _The one_?” 

A noise of distress in the back of his throat. The purest expression of grief. “I imprinted on _you_ , Y/N.” 

“What? Like a cat?” Your face scrunches up. “You’re not making any sense.” 

“I’m making perfect sense.” His voice is stern, solid and steady. “You’re it. You’re everything now, and if that’s not what you want, then it doesn’t have to mean anything other than I was put on this earth to protect you.” 

A cold panic settles over your heart. Your eyes fall away from his. 

“But you should know that I’m in love with you–” 

A soul-shattering need tugs at your heartstrings. You can’t escape the pure fawning adoration in his voice; it has you rooted, anchored, _grounded_. 

His words are like gravity. 

“–and that I no longer have the strength to stay away from you.” 

You look up and your heart jumps when you realize he’s a lot closer to you than he was before. His nose is practically touching yours, and if you look closely, you’d be able to count all the little freckles on his face. 

“I’m still confused.” He waits for you to continue, and you take a measured breath. “You said you imprinted on me, but how is that possible? Humans can’t just imprint on someone.” 

His grin is devastatingly beautiful. “Can I show you?” 

Unable to speak, you nod, and he stands with you, fingers still latched to yours. Then he leans down and kisses your nose as if he’s been waiting to do so for centuries. 

“Wait.” As if burned, he pulls back, torn and panicked. Shame fills you, but not for that reason. “If I...if _we_ do this then I need you to promise me something.” 

“I’ll do anything.” Comes his immediate reply. 

“Good, because I’m gonna need you to tell Leah.”

He nods. “I’ll do it.” 

“Sam, I need you to promise,” you demand. “I don’t want her to hate me.” 

“I don’t think you understand how this imprinting thing works, Y/N.” A quirk of his lips, now impish. “My entire conscious is wired to please you.” 

Still confused, but now more curious than ever, you let Sam lead you straight back into the woods, to the very spot you encountered him almost an hour ago. It’s seems to drop even lower in temperature the deeper you venture into the woods, and it’s then you realize you forgot to bring your jacket – the one Sam used to cover himself up with. 

“Cold?” Sam asks, and you can’t help but marvel at how undeniably fond his voice sounds. 

This version of your best friend is different, much softer toward you – attentive, and extremely so. The Sam from two weeks ago had been gruff, as gruff as one can get, and you soaked up that part of him greedily. Now, after speaking one syllable to you, all you want to do is give in, and let him cater to your every whim and need and it scares you that you feel that way. 

“Nah,” you lie. “You’re like my personal fireplace.” 

Even though it’s pitch black, you can practically see the satisfaction on his face and feel it in the way he purposely brushes his arm up against yours. A small sense of pride swells and swoops in your tummy. 

“So, do you think this is far enough?” 

He stops to gaze around your surroundings then cranes his neck slightly with his nose tilted toward the sky. You’re about to comment on that when he untangles his fingers from yours and drops the towel to the forest floor. 

Night-vision would have been a curse _and_ a miracle at this point. 

“This should be fine.” He murmurs before taking well-measured steps back, calculating the distance between the two of you as if he’s afraid he might harm you somehow if he isn’t careful. 

The atmosphere takes a dive into the deep end, jump-starting your heart. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he says determinedly. “I won’t hurt you. _Ever_.” 

“No, I know. I trust you.” 

At that, he releases a long, shuddering breath. “Good.” 

“Do you need me to do anything?” 

“Your presence is enough,” he says, and then rushes to add, “Just don’t freak out.” 

You hear it before you see it. 

A low, primal growl. 

Bones breaking and realigning. 

The shock is so powerful that you end up stumbling backwards blindly and, as your eyes adjust to the huge mass of black fur right in front of you, plop down onto the ground with an, _oof_. 

His massive paws are silent as a shadow as he nears you, and the closer he gets, you’re able to familiarize his height to that of a horse. He towers over you, dark blue eyes monitoring you as if you’re the most curious thing this side of the moon. 

You mouth falls open. “... _Sam_?” 

The sound of the name leaving your lips has the massive creature letting out a soft huff through his nose. Then he carefully lowers himself down onto his belly, as if there’s still that chance he might hurt you if he moves too fast, and drops his head onto his paws. At the slow blink he gives you, a telltale sign of submission, you melt. 

_He won’t hurt you_. 

The thought has that giddy feeling in your chest bubbling out in the form of hushed laughter. 

The wolf – your wolf – perks up at the sound. First his ears, then as the sound lingers, he lifts his head and yaps softly. He tilts the upper half of his body toward you, tucking his muzzle underneath your chin and licking your neck excitedly. 

You reach up and cradle his cheeks, lightly kneading your fingers through his fur and letting it whisper across your skin. The occasional movement of twigs and small tree branches behind him alert you of the incessant waggling of his tail as it sweeps across the forest floor. 

Overwhelmed with affection, your wolf bumps his snout against your chin, but accidentally ends up bumping your nose and licking your cheek – and mouth. He keeps making little happy noises in the back of his throat that you find adorable. 

When he drags his tongue over your cheek for the third time, you scrunch up your face and lean your head back, giggling. “That’s so gross.” 

His muzzle rests in the crook of your neck as he gives a short huff through his nose again as if to say, _Ha ha_. _Very funny_. Though, he doesn’t move away, continuing to bury his muzzle in the most sensitive spot on a human body. It tickles.

Breath fanning at your skin. Wet snout brushing against your collarbones. You can no longer hear the excited sweep of his tail. Instead, it’s lazy and peaceful, and you’re certain that his eyes are closed. 

“Sam?” 

Your wolf detaches himself from you and, as if sensing the shift in your emotions, sits back on his haunches, eyes somewhat slit-like and peering. 

“Before this you never really spared me a second glance,” you mutter self-consciously. “Then you – you imprint on me, and it’s like none of that ever happened.” 

This isn’t a conversation you would’ve been able to openly discuss with him while in human form – there’s no automatic response, no need for him to intervene because he can’t. It’s better this way. 

Sam’s ears lay flat as he whimpers lightly – a clear sign that he’s distressed. There’s a painful tug in your chest. It seems that you underestimated his reactions even in wolf form, and it’s enough to make you feel terrible. 

You lower your head. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just...I think I’m still trying to process this whole imprinting thing.” A trembling breath, and the invisible rope connecting the two of you tightens. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” 

Sam nudges you with his snout, letting out a whine as if asking you to look at him. Begrudgingly, you give in, only to let out a half-choked, half-exhausted laugh at the sight of him bowing his head, craning it perfectly in your reach. 

The sound of his wolfish purr as you scrub at the tufts of fur on the top of his head, makes you question how you got so lucky to be tied to someone as beautiful as Sam Uley. 

* * *

You don’t get a wink of sleep that night. 

Not long after your one-sided conversation, Sam had phased back and offered to walk you home. And as you sluggishly walked up the steps to your back porch, he had told you to try and get some sleep, following up with a chaste kiss to your temple. 

You still aren’t used to him being affection toward you, so when he kissed you – a kiss of preservation – there had been a part of you that hoped he would stay the night. Of course, you couldn’t do that, not with the lingering truth that Leah still needs a proper explanation. 

Guilt is what kept you from closing your eyes. 

Now, it’s the crack of dawn, school is just around the bend. You don’t want to go, but you don’t particularly want to skip any class, and you know that if you do then that gives Sam all the reason to come check on you – the thought only brings forth more anxiety.

Head spinning, you take a minute to settle the nausea in your stomach, jumping when there's a soft rapping of knuckles on your bedroom door.

"Hey, are you awake?" That's your dad.

After a moment, you reply devoid of energy. "Yeah."

The door creaks open and you’re met with your father’s disheveled mop of hair and age-old expression of concern. “You feeling okay, squirt?” 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

And then the concern grows and he shuffles further into your bedroom. “Do you want to stay home today?” At your hesitance, he rushes to add, “I don’t mind and, really, sweetheart, you look exhausted...maybe it isn’t such a good idea to push yourself.” 

“I’ll be okay.” You say, wrestling yourself out of your blanket, forcing down the bit of bile clawing up your throat. “Don’t want to mess up my perfect attendance.” 

Your father gives you one last lingering look before resigning with a nod. “Okay, okay. If today gives you trouble, come home.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He gives a tired grin. “Atta girl.” 

The second the door clicks shut, you stumble out of bed and trip into the bathroom, barely managing to collapse in front of the toilet to empty your stomach. 

* * *

Leah confronts you at school. 

You’re standing at your locker, trying for the tenth time to open it, when she knocks her shoulder against your arm. An involuntary yelp bubbles out of your lips from the excursion, leaving you winded as you’re whirled around and shoved up against the row of lockers behind you. 

Bloodshot eyes. 

A furious snarl. 

Everyone is the hall seems to fall quiet as Leah looms over you with a shredding expression of anger. “ _You_ –” she jabs her index finger into your chest, quivering lips curling back– “This is _your_ fault.”

The pressure is almost blindingly painful, you think, but nothing in that moment hurt more than the absolute look of betrayal on her face. Holding back another feeble moan, you feel your expression twist in guilt. 

“Leah, I’m sorry–”

The scoff that leaves her is heartless, seething, “I _never_ want to speak to you again, do you hear me?” She sniffs angrily, not bothering to brush away the tears that cascade down her cheeks. “I _hate_ you.” 

Your panic meter shoots right up. 

“No, no, no. Don’t say that,” you whisper brokenly, “You can’t...Leah, I didn’t know, okay? I swear, I never meant to hurt you. Please...you have to understand.” 

Her expression almost falters. _Almost_. 

You screw your eyes shut, bracing for another round of Leah’s unstoppable anger, when–

“Leah, you need to leave.” 

Paul stands off to the right, face hardened with carefully contained rage as his eyes zero in on your friend. And your gaze darts between them frantically, anticipating what will happen next. 

Leah growls dangerously low in her throat and takes a non-threatening step back. Then without sparing either of you a second glance, she swivels around and stalks away down the hall. 

Instinct, rather than desperation, has you chasing after her, but Paul’s hand on your shoulder keeps you rooted to the spot. 

“Let her go, Y/N.” He says, and for the first time, his voice is pitying. 

You watch her leave, heartbroken. “But...” 

“She’ll get over it,” he replies curtly, “Plus, Sam won’t be happy when he deals with her – she broke a rule.” 

“Rule?” You whirl around to face him, confused and puffy-eyed. “What rule?”

There’s a tick in his jaw, his eyes focused ahead, but he doesn’t answer you. Instead, as if sensing the tension in the hall, he levels the steadily increasing crowd of students with a vicious, defensive glare. 

“ _What_?” His growl is menacing. “Mind your damn business.” 

He doesn’t even have to shout and it has every student within a two mile radius scurrying off to class. 

“Let’s go,” he urges, and his posture is stiff, angled your way protectively. “Come on.” 

You don’t fight him. 

* * *

By the time the bell rings, signaling the end of the day, you’re completely worn out. Drained, mentally and physically exhausted with heavy bags under your eyes and sunken cheeks with red-rimmed eyes. 

Sam is waiting for you out in the school parking lot, leaning casually against the hood of your jeep. He doesn’t even notice, nor cares for, the obvious balking of the students that pass by since his unerringly fond gaze is deadlocked on you. 

Which is why it doesn’t come as a surprise when, at first glance, his body goes rigidly tense and straight, and that once soft expression shifts into that fierce protectiveness you’ve come to understand is meant just for you. 

In a fit where your limbs move before your brain can process, you throw yourself against Sam’s chest. As if having anticipated this, his arms come around your trembling shoulders, molding around your touch.

“What happened?” A soft demand, but a demand nonetheless. 

If he’s asking, Paul must have not told him yet. 

“She hates me,” your words catch on an inhale. “I told you she’d hate me.” 

While holding you at arm’s length, Sam’s unblinking stare sweeps over your face once and a muscle jumps in his neck. But you don’t say anything, because the look in your eyes says it all. 

“Can you take me home?” your words are garbled and barely above a whisper. 

And just like that, all the seething ire in his expression diminishes. He looks just as miserable as you feel, but he bends forward slightly, and his lips are a mere hint of pressure against your forehead. A gesture so softly moored, protective. You inhale his scent greedily. Sandalwood and cinnamon. 

He smells like home to you – _feels_ like home. 

Your wolf still wears that same expression as if he’s more attuned to your emotions than he let on, when he pulls back from you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

_I don’t feel good_ , you want to say. _I haven’t gotten enough sleep – no sleep, for that matter_. All you do is nod and hand him the keys to your jeep before shuffling over to the passenger side and forcing yourself inside. 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, begging you to look at him. 

You don’t. 

* * *

The sound of a howl startles you out of your restless slumber. 

You bolt upright, immediately regretting it as the room starts to spin. Groaning softly, you press your palm to your temple, eyes screwing shut. Your mind reels, thoughts racing, and your vision settles as you stare into the darkness of your room. 

Cricket’s chirp outside your window; a mating call. The leaves on the trees rustle in the breeze, in the woods, beyond your backyard. 

You hold your breath, wondering if you had imagined the howl – maybe you dreamt of it. 

Taking a deep breath, you sink back down into the mattress, only to swallow back a screech at the sound of another howl. 

And it sounds dangerously close to your house. 

Hesitantly, you force yourself out of bed, sock-clad feet shuffling almost silently across the carpeted floor. Palms flat on the windowsill, your gaze immediately spots something dark, something massive, unmistakably so. 

There, pacing in between the copse of trees, is your wolf. 

From the inhuman sounds he’s making, it’s clear that he’s distressed. If you peer closer, you can see that his ears are flattened, and his eyes – those beautiful dark blue eyes are darting rapidly from your window to the ground. 

With a sigh, you crawl through the window so you’re sitting on the sill, legs dangling below. “I’m fine, Sammy.” 

Almost instinctively, the pacing stops – and so does the whining and whimpering. He sits back on his haunches, but still managing to look all torn up about something unknown to you. 

Does he want you to go down there?

You watch your wolf, fondly amused. “Someone’s needy.” 

When his tail begins that excited little sweep, you muffle your laughter behind your palm. Pleased by this outcome, he yaps all the while reminding you of a giant puppy. 

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.” You mutter before slinking back into your bedroom to search for a sweater. 

By the time you step off your porch, Sam’s shimmying into a pair of cut-off jeans. You make contact from across the yard and he gives you one of his softest smiles – a smile that has you winded. It’s hard to imagine him as the Alpha of the pack when he acts this way.

The first step he takes toward you is one that has him almost tripping over his own two feet. Now embarrassed, he stumbles his way over to you with darkening cheeks, looking boyishly timid. 

“Hey,” he greets softly, bending halfway to wrap his arms around you in a bear-hug, face burrowed into the crook of your neck. The momentum has your feet lifting off the ground as he stands to his full-height, pouring every ounce of devotion and adoration into a single embrace. 

A little happy sound lodges itself in your throat as you return the endearing gesture. “Hey, you.” 

After a moment, he sets you back down and you find that you already miss his warmth. You’re pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours, tugging you after him, near the log just inside the woods. 

“So,” you clear your throat, garnering his attention. He gives you a look of patience, probably already knowing what you’re going to ask. “Did, um, Paul tell you...?” 

His eyes flicker across your face as if he’s still marveling at the sheer fact of your existence. After a beat of silence, he nods, now looking forlorn. “Yeah,” his voice cracks with the weight of his emotions, all bubbling up to the surface. “She shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It was out of line, and I’m sorry.” 

Your heart twinges painfully when his gaze drops from yours, overcome with guilt. 

“It’s not your fault, nor was it Leah’s,” you murmur and, with a slow-burning difficulty, raise his knuckles to your lips. You speak to him from behind the warmth of his hand, brows furrowed. “She was angry and she had every right to be. To be on the verge of losing love, and to have it happen to someone so young...it’s heartbreaking.” 

His eyes find yours again, and a soft, quizzical look brushes over his features. You wrap your other hand around his and bring it to your cheek, holding it there, steadying, grounding, anchoring him to you. 

Then, taking you completely off-guard, he hums an unexpected laugh, puffing up pridefully. 

A raw need has you closing the distance. 

His laughter cuts off instantly, drowned out by the melding of your lips. He curves into you, and you melt into him, hands slowly traveling up his biceps before finally resting on the back of his neck. You play with the little strands of his hair at the base of his neck and he shudders, bringing his hand around to the small of your back as he leans into you. 

When you pull back, Sam bumps his forehead to yours, an act of submission, and slowly peels his eyes open. 

You want to kiss him again. 

And again. And again. And again. 

He fixes you with bedroom eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly, as if someone had just injected him with adrenaline. 

“ _Kwop kilawtley_ ,” he whispers. 

You kiss him again. 


End file.
